"I—I thought perhaps you might wish to take some action——"
"But the man is dead!" exclaimed the ambassador. "Dead and buried."
"That is just the question!" cried Cord eagerly. "Is he dead? For my part, I suspect he is very much alive and kicking. His suicide was only a ruse, to mask his plans from the public."
"A very successful one!" retorted the older man drily. "His daughter identified the body and was present at its burial. It was in all the papers."
"That is another point!" exclaimed Van Ingen. "Not once was I permitted to view the body. I was even denied admittance to the house until three days after the funeral. Throughout the affair the utmost secrecy was observed."
"That seems natural, under the circumstances."
Van Ingen coloured warmly. "Pardon me, it is not natural, sir, when you know all the circumstances. I was an intimate of the family—almost, one might say, in the position of a son." He halted, and then continued, with a certain dignity: "I have not spoken on the subject to you before, sir, chiefly because there has been nothing definite to say. But Miss Grayson is, I hope and pray, sir, my future wife."
"Ah!" The ambassador surveyed him with a keen but kindly glance.
"I feel bound," he observed thoughtfully, "to make a few remarks, both as your guardian and as a man who has seen something of the world. The wife of a rising young diplomat must be, like Cæsar's wife, above reproach. In short, my dear boy, to marry Miss Grayson will absolutely ruin your career."
Van Ingen sprang to his feet; his face was livid with anger.